


A Not so Sweet Retreat

by solar_celeste



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CPR, Delayed Drowning, Drowning, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, and ice cream, and lots of foreshadowed snuggles, and milkshakes, and really delayed uploading, collapsed bridge, no.13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solar_celeste/pseuds/solar_celeste
Summary: Dick flicked on the blinker, turning onto the bridge that would take them over a small inlet of the harbor and to the ice cream shop. The store was closer to the manor and therefore further from the penthouse, but it was one that he had enjoyed as a child. The drive was minimal if it meant a moment of sweet nostalgia- even if the surrounding sites were in need of some serious TLC.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 151





	A Not so Sweet Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> In my typical fashion, this teeters on the edge of actually satisfying the prompt.

There were many social norms that Dick refused to abide. 

He grew up on the polar end of the wealth spectrum compared to Bruce Wayne and had never truly adapted to the change, even after all of his years in Gotham. Time spent living cramped, but warm and safe, in a small trailer during his circus days acclimated Dick to a life with limited material aspects but amounts of love too copious to properly fit inside of a human heart. Thus said, when he had first moved in with Bruce, the grandness of the manor had been overwhelming. It had felt cold, hollow and painfully lonely. Bruce had noticed, ever the detective that he was, and had made it his new mission to fill that empty void in his ward’s chest. 

It was the little things that had mattered the most to Dick. A movie night, cuddled together on a couch big enough for fifteen people. The taste of his favorite foods, homemade and enjoyed with those closest to him. A quick goodbye hug before school and work, no matter how rushed it sometimes was. 

Bruce had always hurried around in the morning, running late to one meeting or another. He was not as flawless as he appeared to the general public and hardly had time to enjoy a granola bar before work, let alone drive his little bird to school. They had tried it once, tensions high and all parties late to their destinations. It had been obvious then, that a different arrangement would be necessary and so, Alfred began driving Dick to school- a tradition that repeated with Jason and Tim, respectively.

It was also customary that Bruce collect his sons from the academy, sometimes bringing them out for a treat before either heading home to the manor or back to his office to finish some mandatory paperwork. 

With a nightlife of crime and gore and weekends busied with galas and charity events, it was a much needed moment of quiet and normalcy. 

It had been years since Dick had attended Gotham Academy, long since growing out of both his uniform and the tradition. He hardly saw Bruce in the months (years) leading up to his spontaneous disappearance, and the times that he had were not so pleasant. They had drifted, opinions clashing more times than not. That warm comfort, safety, that the older man had once brought faded away with Dick’s childhood. 

It had only been a few months prior, that Dick had heard word of a new addition to the family. A biological son, the result of a forbidden love- a very  _ unexpected _ result. Dick had kept his distance, as he had become accustomed to doing, and tried to keep his involvement with this ‘new kid’ to a minimum. He had heard countless stories about the boy of course, disturbed tales from a rather frazzled Tim.

Ultimately, when the time came -along with an admittedly devastating phone call- Dick was forced to dive head first into the chaos. The kid, Damian Wayne nee al Ghul, was not as bad as the others had made him out to be. 

It was true that the boy was all sharp edges and harsh words, but Dick almost immediately saw past that. Damian reminded him of himself when he had just been placed into Bruce’s care; lost, confused,  _ terrified.  _ It was the look on the boy’s face, defeated and isolated, that solidified Dick’s resolve to do right by that kid. 

It had started small, dinner together, small smiles of approval directed at Damian, then it had grown larger. They moved to the penthouse, Dick took Damian shopping for things for his room- clothes and decorations that the boy could call his own. They ran training exercises together, he made Damian his  _ Robin. _

It was a slow process, much slower than Dick would have preferred, but progress was progress nonetheless. 

Dick began to take tricks out of Bruce’s book. Damian was homeschooled, unlike the other Wayne boys had been, and therefore Dick was unable to carry on the tradition exactly how it had been. Still, he took the boy out whenever they had a moment free. They went to the park, to the movies or theater, the arcade. Slowly branching farther from the penthouse as Dick introduced Damian to more and more wonders of childhood. 

As this distance grew, however, another problem arose. 

It had taken nearly three months for Damian to ride with Dick in a vehicle without any trepidation. It was different in uniform, when the boy was certain it was for the mission, that there were no ulterior motives or hidden traps- the Bat-mobile had only one purpose in his mind: transport Batman and Robin. It was a show of naivety that Dick would  _ never  _ bring into light. Things could happen anywhere, but it was refreshing to see Damian’s constant worry and impeccable alertness was clouded over on that small issue.

It made up for the heartbreak Dick suffered every time he caught the kid’s small tremors in the rearview mirror. 

The first time that he had seen it he thought he was imagining the way the boy shook and gripped the handles of his safety seat, knuckles white at the pressure. Then it had happened again, and again until Dick had finally put the pieces together. 

It really should have been obvious, considering he knew that the boy hated not being in control. What was more intimidating than allowing someone else to command the vehicle transporting you? Especially in a foreign city where any mental map Damian had was probably flimsy at best. 

Dick came up with a solution- more use of the car. He thought that if he took Damian for rides as a civilian more often, that the kid would become more accustomed to the feeling and would possibly, with time, become more trusting of his older brother. 

It seemed to be working. 

“Grayson you are truly insufferable,” Damian groaned from the backseat, head tilting back dramatically. Dick grinned, a genuine smile that reached from ear to ear as he belted along to the song. The older man’s eyes flickered to the mirror hanging above the stereo, grin widening as he caught the slight upturn to Damian’s lips. 

“Come’on, Dames,” he called, “you know you want to join.”

“Absolutely  _ not _ , _ ” _ the boy huffed, crossing his arms in a pout. “Your taste in music is horrendous.”

“So,” Dick smiled, “if I played something you liked then you’d sing along?” He asked. 

Damian's face reddened in the mirror, both from anger and from embarrassment. He despised being tricked by his older brother. Dick saw this, swallowed a chuckle at the display, and changed the subject. 

“What kind of ice cream are you going to get, kiddo?” He asked. Damian scoffed, but thankfully did not attempt to argue about  _ diets  _ again.

“Vanilla,” he said, looking out the window. They were approaching Gotham harbor, and the reflection of the setting sun against the water cast an unusual beauty on the run-down docks. 

“That’s  _ boring _ ,” Dick groaned, his turn this time. “Don’t you want toppings? Maybe cookies or gummy worms or something?” 

Damian’s nose scrunched in disgust, a reaction Dick always had to muffle a ‘coo’ at. The boy looked like a petulant bunny.

“I’d rather refrain from ingesting the boiled remains of an animal’s  _ carcass _ , Grayson,” he explained. “Besides, toppings give the dish a rather unpleasant texture.”

Huh. That wasn’t something that the boy had ever shared before. Dick hadn’t thought Damian would be fussy over something like the texture of a food. Sure, he was a picky eater, often poking and prodding at his food rather than actually eating it, but he had always summed that up to insolence. He wondered how many other meals they often had that Damian truly did not like.

“What about a milkshake then?” Dick asked, continuing when Damian’s expression melted into one of confusion. “They take ice cream and any toppings you want and put it all in a blender. It's all combined at the end.” 

“Perhaps,” Damian hummed in response, earning another grin from Dick at the win. 

Dick flicked the blinker, turning onto the bridge that would take them over the small inlet of water and to the ice cream shop. The store was closer to the manor and therefore further from the penthouse, but it was one that he had enjoyed as a child. The drive was minimal if it meant a moment of sweet nostalgia. 

Besides, he hadn’t seen sweet Genevieve, the owner, in forever. Dick wanted to check up on her, see how business was going, and introduce her to Damian. She would probably pinch the boy’s cheeks in a grandmotherly fashion, but the kid would get over that with time. 

The small shop was directly at the base of the bridge, with three small antique diner-style tables facing the harbor. It had pure Gotham charm, certainly an acquired taste but lovely to those appreciative of it. The sunset tonight made it glow, bringing Dick directly back into his own childhood. 

He flicked the blinker again, pulling off of the bridge and gliding into a small parking space along the curb. He turned off the car, twisting around in his seat and beaming at his little brother. The boy held a face of indifference, but Dick was ecstatic to see his grip on the seat was not as tight as it had once been. 

“Ready?” He asked. Giving a small nod to the shop beside them. It was aglow, warm light spilled through the windows and gave way to the tiny interior. 

“I suppose,” Damian sighed, but fumbled to un-click his seatbelt and open his door with just barely contained anticipation. Dick knew, deep down, that his little brother enjoyed their outings just as much as he. 

“Genevieve makes the best milkshakes,” Dick assured as he made sure he locked the car and grabbed for Damian’s hand. He loved this shop more than any in the upper-class area of the city, but the heightened probability for theft or assault was not something he was going to mess with while in civilian attire. 

Whether it was for the act or a true show of how far they’ve come, Damian refrained from yanking his hand away.

The door jingled as Dick pulled it open, hinges creaking with age. Inside there were only three other people, a young couple -high school age if Dick were to guess- and Genevieve, who immediately smiled and hurried around the counter to give her favorite customer a tight hug.

She was a plump little thing, just under a foot taller than Damian at about five feet tall. She had grey hair that fell in tight ringlets around her shoulders and wore a fifties-style, black and white polkadot apron. 

She pulled away, eyes twinkling with happiness at the sight of Dick. 

“It’s been too long,” she insisted. “Look how much you’ve grown!”

Dick grinned, stress rolling off his shoulders at her delight.

“It has,” he agreed, nodding. “High school, was it?” He asked.

“Yes, my boy,” Genevieve confirmed. “Far too long, indeed.”

Damian toed at the ground with his small, red shoe, obviously uncomfortable at the friendly exchange. 

“And who is this sweetheart?” Genevieve exclaimed, brightening again as she noticed Damian for seemingly the first time since they had arrived. 

“Oh!” Dick scolded himself for nearly forgetting introductions. “Genevieve, this is Damian. He’s been looking forward to trying your milkshakes, I think my sweet tooth is rubbing off on him.” Dick jested, bumping Damian’s arm in his fun. The boy scowled, though only slightly, more embarrassed than angry- as proven by the growing blush on his cheeks. 

“Oh my, he looks just like you did at that age. Even more petite, though.” Genevieve smiled. Damian would have glared at the comment towards his height if not distracted by the other thing the woman was implying. Next to him, Dick spluttered, mouth opening and closing almost comically.    
  
“A little too young for a child, daresay?” She continued.

“Oh, uh, he’s not mine,” Dick stuttered, finally composing himself enough to correct her. “Dami is Bruce’s son.” It wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t known- Damian’s newfound presence in Gotham was kept as quiet as possible and the women like to distance herself from the drama of the elites. 

“Oh, pardon me!” Genevieve, blushed. “You just seem so close…”

Dick was surprised by this comment. Close? He tried his best to connect as much as he could with Damian, but his efforts hardly paid off as much as he wished they did. He had bonded with the boy in the passing months, of course, but had they really grown close enough to be noticeable by an outsider? 

“No worries,” Dick assured, chest strangely tight. Then, trying to lighten the mood, he added: “We’ve been called far worse.” 

Genevieve gave him a tight lipped smile. “Unfortunately so,” she agreed. “What can I get you boys, you mentioned a milkshake?”

“Yes!” Dick placed a hand between Damian’s shoulder blades, gently encouraging the boy closer to the counter. “What flavor did you want, kiddo?” He asked. 

Damian attempted to glare at his brother, no doubt for the nickname, but the effect was ruined by the anxious wringing of his hands. Damian, Dick had noticed, was  _ never  _ comfortable around strangers- no matter how familiar they were to members of the boy’s family. 

“I do not want anything,” the boy mumbled, eyes on his feet. Dick opened his mouth to respond, but Geneveive beat him to it.

“Are you sure?” She asked. “I have a secret recipe, one thats not on the board. It is an acquired taste though…” She trailed. 

Behind Damian, Dick grinned. He saw what she was doing and knew from experience with his little brother that it was going to work. 

“I have a superb pallet,” the boy countered, as predicted. Dick beamed. 

“Well then, I’m sure this recipe will be just perfect,” Genevieve smiled, already collecting the ingredients and prepping the blender. Damian gave just one, short nod in response. The kid, in Dick’s opinion, was being more pleasant than he ever had been with a stranger. 

“I’ll just take my usual please,” Dick added as Damian received his esteemed shake. It appeared to be mint and oreo cookie, a common flavor- though tasty as it was, a classic. Dick was far from pointing out its simplicity to the boy. 

“Of course, dear.” 

Not moments later, a large, extremely colorful concoction is handed to Dick. Damian’s eyes widened momentarily at the sight, before his expression melted into disgust at the monstrosity. 

There were gummies and cookies and sprinkles spilling from the sides of the carton. On the very top, above at least three flavors of cream and layered on Genevieve's carefully arranged toppings, sat a bright red cherry. 

“Just as I remember,” Dick sighed contentedly. It truly had been too long since he had last visited the small parlor and it’s owner. The surrounding street and bridge showed the passage in time, more rundown and weathered than in his memory.

The man took a large scoop of the sugary goodness, enjoying his treat and attempting to pretend that he was not sneakily watching Damian try his own. Out of his peripheral, Dick could see the boy’s eyes widen in poorly concealed delight, puckered lips perched around his colorful straw. 

It was almost comical, how Damian was so captured by the flavor that he didn’t even notice his outward enjoyment of it. Dick would stand by his claim until his dying day- no ice cream was better than Genevieve’s. 

Nevertheless, they needed to return home before Alfred caught wind of their whereabouts. Really, Dick was only delaying the inevitable- nothing got passed Alfred. Dick knew what he was getting into when he suggested ice cream so close to dinner time. 

“We best be off,” he told his old friend, a soft smile gracing his face. “Alfred will be ready with dinner in a bit.” 

“Sneaking ice cream before supper, Dick Grayson?” Genevieve mused. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you honey?” 

“I aim to please,” Dick laughed. “Damian?” He prompted, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Damian took a moment to detach from his wondrous dessert and look up at his elder.

“Thank you, your cuisine is superb,” he told Genevieve, who chuckled and returned the manner.

They waved their goodbyes as they left, doors jingling happily behind them. 

Dick had made a considerable dent in his ice cream by the time he was situated behind the wheel and, admittedly, was probably not going to finish the rest of it. No matter how much he wished otherwise, he was not as young as he once was and could already feel the heavy cream solidifying in his gut. 

He looked over his shoulder at the thought, realizing he should warn Damian to slow down, lest he get a stomach ache. The kid, however, seemed to be savoring his treat in minuscule sips, rather than the large gulps Dick would have taken at that age. 

“Was I right, or was I right?” Dick asked to the back seat with a smile. Damian’s returning glare held no heat.

“This was… not as pointless as an endeavor as I had originally thought,” the boy admitted, cheeks tinted red.

“I know my desserts, little D,” Dick chuckled, turning back around to buckle. “Just don’t tell Alf about our ‘endeavor’, okay?”

“As if you could successfully keep something from Pennyworth,” Damian scoffed. 

“Shh, buddy. Let a man dream.” 

There was something about the meaningless banter that he and Damian shared that warmed Dick’s heart. Months ago, he would have been lucky if Damian had talked to him at all, let alone have the boy say something somewhat pleasant. To be where they are now, playfully prodding back and forth? It was progress Dick had once questioned even being possible. 

They had enjoyed an amazing day together, one that they had both been in dire need of. Gotham’s criminal community had been eager as of late, the trivial and powerful alike. In addition to that, WE had been overwhelmed  with lawsuits from a money-hungry business across seas. A slow, enjoyable day with his little brother was exactly what Dick had needed to lighten the load on his shoulders.

He pulled the car out of its previous spot along the curb, making a quick u-turn on the abandoned street and heading up the bridge. 

Clicking on the stereo, he risked a gland at the rear view mirror. Damian was still softly sipping at his shake, gazing out the window at the water. 

Dicks lips quirked up for the millionth time that day, though only for a moment. 

Then everything  _ shook. _

He thought he had imagined the first shudder, the quake that sent toppings cascading from his half finished ice cream. Then almost immediately after, another came, jerking the car this time. 

Damian’s head snapped to look at Dick, confirming the reality of their situation. The bridge, for whatever horrid reason, was failing. 

The structure rattled again, the whole of it listing to the left. Dick pressed on the gas, car screeching towards the other end of the bridge as he hoped and pleaded for good luck just  _ once.  _

He was granted no such wish. 

The engine whirred from the pressure on the gas pedal, tires spinning wildly without traction. The bridge had completely escaped from underneath them, twisting away with power from an inexplicable force. 

Dick watched in horror as the car titled towards the water, as he got a glimpse of Damian's head flying and cracking against the door, neck bending painfully. Dick’s own body yanked roughly by his seatbelt. He scrabbled for the seat belt in a moment of realization, trying to undo the mechanism with shaky fingers. 

The car tumbled quickly, throwing its occupants about. The remnants of ice cream and shakes splattering onto the fine leather upholstery. The movements made Dick’s attempts almost impossible, dizzying him in lurching waves.

The click of the belt was overshadowed by a large, sloshing  _ woosh. _

The impact was unpleasant, though not as aggressive as Dick would have thought. The bridge had not been tall and therefore, the car hadn’t gathered much momentum before meeting the water. Still, the car jolted and Dick was sent roughly forward into the steering wheel, his seat belt no longer there to contain him. It was something he was more than thankful for, having the mobility to snap around to face the backseat, the car sat buoyant on the water for a moment before tipping forward into the murky liquid. 

From his seat, Damian met his brother’s gaze with wide, frantic eyes. There was a spot of blood trickling slowly from his temple and his tiny fingers were working frantically on unhooking his own seatbelt, which  _ wasn’t unclipping _ . 

“It’s okay Dami,” Dick soothed, wedging himself between the seats and into the back. He couldn’t tell if the boy’s nerves were overwhelming him or if the lock had actually jammed. 

Dick knew that based off of statistics, they had the best chance of survival if they could escape in the first two minutes. No more than one minute could have passed and, still, water was already seeping into the car. 

“Get the window, kiddo,” Dick instructed frantically, prying Damian’s little fingers from the belt to try it himself. They needed to move fast before the mechanics of the car completely shut off and, if statistics held true, they had little time to spare. Beside him, the shaking boy hurried to roll down the window, water rising as the car sank deeper. 

And the seatbelt was  _ still stuck. _

Heart hammering and quivering with adrenaline, Dick gave one final tug on the belt. Damian peered at him through thick lashes, wide eyed and more scared than Dick had ever seen him.

“ _ Go,  _ Grayson,” the kid pleaded, eyes flickering to the now open window, water flowing through it by the buckets. 

“Not without you,” Dick promised, looking around for something, anything, to cut the belt with.

There was  _ nothing, _ there was-

_ The first aid kit. _

Alfred installed one in every car, fully equipped for any medical situation. In and out of uniform. 

Turning around so fast that he slammed his head on the roof of the car, Dick reeled, hands already grabbing for the center console where he knew the kit was stored. He flung the compartment open, tearing through the cords and CDs he had so carelessly tossed there and dug around for the compact pouch.

Fingers closing around his prize, Dick flew back to the seat, unzipping the small, red pouch and riffling around for the medical scissors he just  _ knew _ had to be in there.

They were a much smaller model of the ones in the cave. Strong, sturdy, and  _ sharp. _

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he reassured Damian. 

He had been prepared for this, read the textbook and done the simulations. But it was so different, terrifying when it was real- when you couldn’t hit a pause button. This was him and  _ Damian _ , a  _ kid _ who was counting on Dick to get him out of this situation, even if he refused to admit it.

He opened the scissors to use the blade as a knife, as he knew the thickness of the belt would likely just dislodge the screw holding the metal together. He sawed at the belt, drawing the tapered blade back and forth across the fabric. A few, intertwined strands of the material frayed and snapped, giving way from the force. Dick worked harding, not caring about nicking his hand or fingers. 

Damian still looked down at him with wide eyes, more clearly terrified than Dick had ever seen them and, as much as he had wished that Damian would be more expressive, he hoped he would never have to see that look on the boy’s face again.

The water level was still rising, the  _ whoosh _ of incoming fluid steady in Dick’s ears; the loud beat of his heart echoing in anxious tandem. The murky liquid of the harbor had completely submerged his hands, movements slower from the water pressure. Still, there were only a few strands of fabric remaining and Dick was  _ not going to let his baby die.  _

The last strand snapped apart purely from tension, two halves of the belt floating in the hazy water. Dick sprung from his crouch, cold liquid water-falling from his upper body. The car shifted with his movement, just enough to test his balance, and he reached for Damian. 

Numerous simulations he had trained on always emphasized removing a child passenger from the vehicle first, but Damian was no ordinary, helpless kid, and Dick was sure that if he exited first, it would be easier for him to lift the ten year old from where he was still tangled in the remaining belt. Water was already settling around the kid's collar bone.

He grabbed the boy’s minuscule hand, determined not to let Damian out of his hold until they had both reached  _ dry, solid  _ safety, and set to climbing. 

Huge, bright green eyes followed him as he hauled himself out of the vehicle via the back window. It was difficult to go against the rush of the incoming water- which was intruding on over half of the frame, but he managed. 

Turning around as fast as he could while treading water, Dick lifted the kid as if he weighed no more than a feather. The angle was extremely awkward but adrenaline masked the strain in his muscles, and he started to maneuver Damian easily out of the small window.

Then there was a catch, because a Bat could never have good luck for too long. 

Damian’s foot caught on the belt, just as the water sealed the open window below the surface. The car, now completely filled and losing the little buoyancy it once had, began sinking at a quicker pace, threatening to suck the little boy in Dick’s hands down with it.

“You’re gonna have to hold your breath,” Dick said, looking at his little brother. In return, Damian’s fear smoothed into solid determination. With dwindling energy, they both sucked in a breath and allowed themselves to be submerged.

Dick opened his eyes immediately, ignoring the sting the probably polluted water brought to his naked eyes. He peered through the silt clouds, eyes squinting with concentration. He could see the shape of the black safety belt, pulled taught out of the car window, wrapped in a singular, but very tight loop around the boy’s slim ankle. 

The belt was drawn too tight to undo in the time they had, tight lungs already reminding both boys of the rapidly increasing need for oxygen. Thinking quickly, Dick pulled at the lace of Damian’s tiny shoe, cursing the knotted string. Finally untied and lungs  _ aflame, _ he pulled it off and pushed the offending obstacle into the murky depths of the harbor in one-fell swoop. 

Shaking fingers clawed at the kid’s skin as Dick peeled the belt down his ankle to his heel; creating guilt he would later feel when he noticed the angry, red crescent-shaped cuts littering the boy’s flesh. The belt caught once around Damian’s heel before Dick used his last shred of energy to  _ rip _ the fabric from his kid.

He kicked up, struggling as he realized they had sunk much further than he had thought. Damian lay limp, hair flowing with the water from where Dick’s arm was secured tightly around the boy- just beneath his armpits. 

Dick hadn’t even  _ looked at  _ the child when he had been tangled and submerged, too focused on getting the both of them out. Seeing the kid now, slack as bubbles trailed sluggishly from his nose and mouth, was far too frightening a sight.

Couldn’t this world show any mercy? Damian had already been through too much.

Heart thudding nearly out from behind his sternum, Dick hauled himself and his little brother back to shore. Their refuge wasn’t land per-say, but a dock not far from where the bridge had stood. In his peripheral, the colorful twinkling lights of the ice cream shop mocked him. 

If only Dick had not been so persistent, if only he had taken Damian home when the boy had requested it and not insisted on sharing this one, silly childhood tradition. His little robin didn’t even express a vague  _ liking  _ for sweets on a normal basis, never mind requesting they make the purchase of some such an adventure. 

The boy hadn’t even  _ wanted _ to come, but Dick had made him- convinced him that it was worth his time. Forced him.

Look how well  _ that _ turned out.

Maybe it was karma, a cruel way for the world to say ‘fuck you’; payback for the crimes he had committed both in and out of the mask- for what had gone down with Bruce before the man’s death. Dick supposed he deserved it. Nights upon nights of his teen self screaming at his adoptive father, storming from the premises with steam practically seeping from his ears.

He still believed Bruce had been unreasonable then, but Dick was an ass to the man that had sacrificed so much for him. Damian didn’t deserve to suffer the backlash for his brother’s wrongdoings, the boy was just a  _ child. _

Dick had dealt with enough bad karma and, as a Bat, far more horrid luck than anyone was due for in a lifetime. He knew CPR, child and adult, and was unfortunate enough to say he had performed it on numerous victims with varying rates of success. 

Lifting Damian onto the dock first, Dick pulled himself up. His muscles and joints were weary from exertion and ached from the awkward lifting he had been doing but there was no way he was going to stop now, not when they had come so far. 

Besides, it’s  _ always  _ the better option to attempt CPR- you can’t further harm someone who needs it.

Dick checked the boy for responsiveness, though more out of habit than anything as he couldn’t be more aware that Damian was _out_ _cold_. 

As he suspected, there was no movement and Dick continued, titling the boy’s head back to open his airway, his own heart threatening to give out from anticipated grief. 

If he listened carefully enough, past the roaring blooding his ears and his hammering pulse, Dick almost thought he could hear sirens in the distance. He squashed any hopeful relief- It was probably no more than a mere wish.

After giving the kid two rescue breaths, he pulled away again, watching the small chest before him for any sign of movement. 

There was none.

He aligned his hands, one on top of the other, fingers interlocking as he rested them in the center of his brother’s chest, just above the sternum and  _ pushed. _ It was tiring on his already exhausted arms.  _ One-and-two-and-three…  _

Dick jumped, the previously  _ lifeless _ body jolting beneath his clammy palms. He recovered quickly from his shock and helped his little brother onto his side and into the rescue position, filthy water full of silt and harbor scum spilled from the boy’s mouth in a wave too large to have fit inside of his tiny chest. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, voice quivering. “Let it out.”

Damian coughed and sputtered onto the weathered wood of the dock as his older brother smoothed his hair back. The two had wound up a mere fifty feet from where they had previously been parked.Their tired, dripping figures were illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. It made more of an odd and disturbing scene.

The sirens Dick had heard previously were real, a panicked calling intermixed with the constant  _ wee-ooo _ of the ambulance. Frantically jogging over to them, tender hands gripping her apron so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, was Genevieve. 

She was the absolute picture of worry, her face pinched and eyes wide. Her fingers shook almost imperceptibly, just like Dick’s had throughout the entire ordeal. Now his own digits just felt numb, heavy and still as the adrenaline melted from his body.

He almost lost the kid,  _ his  _ kid had almost drowned right in his arms.

As carefully and as tenderly as he could manage, Dick desperately pulled Damian into his arms- tucking the boys head on his shoulder and patting his back to encourage any remaining water out. It should have felt odd, he had  _ never  _ been allowed the privilege of holding his kid this closely before. He had missed this intimate of contact and melted into it. Dick never wanted to let go. 

“I called 911 as soon as I heard the crash,” Genevieve panted, coming to stop beside the dripping boys. “Are you boys alright?” 

Dick nodded, out of breath himself.

“They’re on their way, baby,” he whispered to Damian. “Hear those sirens? You’re gonna be okay.”

Genevieve smiled, slowly joining them on the ground and ignoring her protesting bones. She untied her apron and wrapped it around Damian’s shoulders. 

“Both a’you dearies are gonna be just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then Dick took Damian to the shoe store (to replace his sneakers) and purchased our favorite little fireball some velcro light-up kicks :)
> 
> Also, I am first-aid, CPR, and lifeguard certified. I cannot stress enough that everyone should learn CPR, whether they receive certification for it or not. It is the one skill everyone should know and never want to use, but it can save a life. Remember, all situations requiring CPR stem from cardiac arrest -including drowning- which means that a victim is medically dead and that nothing worse can come from attempting CPR on them. I know someone who suffered cardiac arrest and a complete stranger saved their life by performing CPR.
> 
> Finally I just want to thank everyone who actually still respects me as an author. I have been practically non-existent for the past… forever. I’m so sorry. Things have been difficult on the mental and physical health side of life until just a few weeks ago- I want to write some type of vent/support fic about it in the next year but I am definitely not promising anything after what just happened. 
> 
> Smokescreen and my Even Ashes Burn in Wildfires series are NOT discontinued and will resume in the upcoming months. I have broken all of my promises and have decided not to make any more commitments for uploading- it just doesn't work for me.
> 
> Once again, I am so, so sorry.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, comments are my coffee!


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